Chapter 5 #2
I shift forward by inches, hand extended, teeth clenched, heart palpitating furiously.
Once I am in range, the enormous beast sniffs my offered hand with surprising delicacy.
His nose is wet and cold. His tongue, when it flips against my knuckles, is warm and wet, in contrast. One lick, and then the dog gives me what I can only describe as a big, eager, doggy grin.
"Oh." I clear my throat and force myself to let go of Riley's hand, shifting the last few inches toward the dog. "Hallo, mein Hundefreund. Du bist sehr gross. Aber ich muss doch keine Angst vor dir haben, oder?" The dog woofs at me, a quiet noise, a huff of hot breath.
I feel three pair of eyes on me. Riley palms the back of his neck. "You speak German?"
"Yes. I speak several languages in varying degrees of fluency."
"Several?" he repeats. "Such as?"
"Well, in addition to German, in which I am only relatively conversationally fluent, I am passable in Spanish and Portuguese.
I am well-versed in French, as it is rather widely spoken in certain regions of Africa.
I can make myself understood in Italian.
I have a smattering of quite a few African dialects as well, but I do not consider myself fluent in any of them. "
Riley laughs—it sounds startled, or perhaps shocked. "For real?"
"Um, well…yes. Why?"
He shakes his head. "You speak five languages other than English fluently?"
"Yes. And I know words and phrases in perhaps six more African dialects."
"Fuck me," he mutters. To me, then. "How do you know so many languages?"
"I am what you might consider a black hole when it comes to information.
Languages in particular have always come easily to me.
I first began learning Spanish as a young child, as one does.
I then discovered the similarity of Portuguese to Spanish, which led to the understanding of the influence of Latin on Spanish, French, Portuguese, and Italian.
Therefore, I taught myself to read and write in Latin—it is not a spoken language, so one cannot be considered fluent in it, per se, however.
Once I understood the structure and syntax and such of Latin, it was a relatively easy matter to absorb the relatively minor differences in the romance languages.
German is similar to English—or rather, English is similar to German, I should say, so that was not very difficult.
My family and I spent a year in Germany when I was nine, while my parents attempted to gain entry to Rwanda, and that was when I became truly conversant.
The African languages I picked up out of necessity, while living among the people who speak them. "
"Jesus," Riley breathes. "Make me feel like a real dumbfuck. I barely speak English properly."
I shake my head. "No, please. Do not feel that way. My mind is, as you may have noticed, rather different. It seeks patterns above all else, and language is nothing but patterns for the most part. What is not a matter of patterns is a matter of memorization, and I happen to have an eidetic memory."
"A what memory?”
"Eidetic. It was once called a photographic memory, but recent advancements in understanding have rendered that term obsolete. It merely means I retain information with perfect recall."
"Yeah, I guess that tracks," he mutters.
Noelle, having finished cleaning her space, joins the conversation. "So, since this isn't a social call, to what do we owe the pleasure?"
Riley explains my mission, the need, and Mrs. Aldis's plan to bring the Chamber of Commerce on board.
Noelle listens politely. "So, what does this have to do with me?"
"Well," Riley says. "Cadence's whole thing is missions.
And, well…look, I know you've had your issues with church folks, considering what happened with you and your ex, but I was hoping you still had some connections in the church community.
I guess this just seems like the kind of thing church folks would get behind. "
Noelle sighs. "You aren't wrong, there. It's just…
I pretty much cut all ties with the church when everything happened.
" She looks at me, thinking. "My parents, however, are a different story.
I'll talk to them." She looks at me again, frowning.
"You're really going to go there? Isn’t it pretty dangerous? "
"It is," I agree. "But I cannot allow that to deter me. I made a promise which I intend to keep. The people there deserve care, precisely because of the danger which they live with every day. When I have finished my mission, I will return here, where it is safe. They will not."
"You've got guts, I'll give you that," Noelle says. "I'd be too scared."
"Nah," Bear says, regarding her with affection. "You're way braver than you think."
She smiles at him. "I'm glad you think so, baby.” To me, then. "I'll see what I can do."
"That is all one could hope for," I say. "And considering you do not know me at all, it is more than I could have asked."
The main salon door opens, and a woman enters.
"That's my next appointment," Noelle says. “I’ll get ahold of you, Riley, once I've spoken to my parents."
"You're the best, No-No." Riley hugs her and then gives Bear an exuberant, back-slapping, hyper-masculine embrace. "See ya 'round, Bear."
“Yeah, man," Bear rumbles. "Nice to meet you, Cadence."
"You as well, both of you,” I say, waving as Riley leads me outside.
He points down the street. "Next stop, the sheriff's office!"
"Why the sheriff?" I ask.
"Oh, well, because the sheriff happens to be my lifelong best friend. Well, one of two, not counting my brother." He grins. "You'll meet everyone, don't worry."
"My head is already spinning, Riley," I say.
He looks at me, concerned. "Oh, nope. It's okay. No spinning."
I frown at him. "Are you mocking my literal nature?"
"Mocking? Never. Teasing, affectionately? Yes."
"Oh. I see." We walk together in silence for several blocks. Finally, I can hold back the question no longer. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?" he asks.
"Helping me. Any of it, but the fundraising in particular."
He does not answer immediately. "I want to. It's a noble cause, for one. And, honestly, I like you. I want to help." He says it so bluntly, casually, as if it wouldn’t rock the foundations of my world.
“You like me." I register the words and their meaning—and the fact that he has said them more than once—but my heart cannot accept their veracity.
"Yep."
"Interesting." It emerges flatly, atonal.
He walks a few steps and then looks at me. "Wait, hold up." he stops, moves in front of me, and tries to catch my eyes. "Cadence…do you not believe me?"
"In all honesty, no. To be clear, I do not think you are lying. Rather, it is obvious you do not understand me, which makes me an interesting puzzle, at best. Experience informs me that you will lose interest once the novelty wears off."
"Nah." He waves a hand. "It ain’t that."
His dismissal of my statement is breezy and casual. Utterly without value or merit, or so it seems.
"History would beg to differ," I say.
"Maybe." He frowns in my direction. “Meanin' you’ve been through that? People show interest, get bored, and move on?"
“To put it kindly, yes."
"What's the unkind version?" he asks.
I sigh. "People can be cruel, Riley." I swallow hard, look straight ahead, buttoning up the overwhelming barrage of emotions before they can spill out. "Especially to someone as…different…as I am."
"People can be real dicks," he says, and while I do not trust my translation of his expression, it appears he understands the sentiment from personal experience.
He looks at me, searching my face—for what, I could not say.
"I'm not helping you out of idle curiosity or boredom or whatever.
And the truth is, I don't like all that many people. You, I do."
"When you say you like me, what does that mean?" I hate the way my heart clatters hopefully within the concrete prison I imagine it to be concealed within.
I know better. But one cannot help hoping, I suppose.
Futile as that hope may be.
A shrug. "You're different. You're interesting. I dunno. I just like you. That's what it means. I like who you seem to be, and the more I learn about you, the more I like you."
As friends? The question remains unasked, percolating in my metaphorical gut.
The inference which follows the unasked question burns even hotter: or as more? But this I cannot allow to even form as a thought.
It simply would not do.
One can only hope and be disappointed so many times, after all.
Riley stops outside a small, one-story brick building, one foot on the bottom-most step; a sign painted on the glass announces that this is the county sheriff's office, and that Cole Mannix is the sheriff. "C'mon, let's go say hi to Cole."
"Riley, wait." I hesitate. "You have helped me more than anyone could expect. You have done enough. You need not waste any more of your time on this, or me. I am quite sure you have better things to do on a Saturday."
He frowns at me, perturbed. "Haven't wasted a damn thing, babe. I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing." He takes both of my hands. "C'mon. I want you to meet Cole. More to the point, I want Cole to meet you."
"I do not think it necessary to inflict my oddity upon anyone else, Riley," I murmur. "You will erode the goodwill of your friends."
"The fuck are you talking about?" he demands, sounding genuinely disturbed. "No one is inflicting anything on anyone, and also I don't even know what you mean by the second part of that bullshit statement.”
"Never mind. It was an obviously poor attempt at self-deprecating humor."
He stares at me, and I think he can detect the lie in my words. "More bullshit. I thought you didn't lie."
I blush. "Riley, I—"
He frames one side of my face with his palm. "Don't do that, Cadence."
"You engage in self-deprecating humor," I point out.